


Months

by MightyRoosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorders, M/M, Rejection, Self-Harm, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyRoosh/pseuds/MightyRoosh
Summary: Set after 'Chokes'.Howard is gone for much longer than two weeks. Vince struggles to cope.Trigger warning for disordered eating and possible other forms of self harm.





	1. The First Month

Vince had hardly even said goodbye, the day that Howard had left for Denmark with Jurgen Haabermaaster. He had been far too busy, determinately struggling into his tiny drainpipes, ready to start his dream life as frontman of a rock band. He had had no time to acknowledge whatever Howard's latest doomed-to-fail plan had been. Howard would be back. Howard always came back.

Except this time.

The first two weeks had been fine. Vince had assumed that Howard just needed to get this new venture out of his system. He had been glad for the alone time, if he was honest. The disastrous "swollen head" performance had been churning around in his mind-tank, making him irritable and snappy. He hadn't been able to go out until the buzz had died down and everyone had moved on to the next scandal/ fashion/ club. So he had been stuck at home, mourning the loss of his big break and feeling like a berk. Focusing his feelings of self-consciousness into snide remarks at Howard's expense had started to become a habit. It wasn't a good habit, but he needed something in order to maintain the sunshiney persona he presented to the world. And no matter how horrible he got, Howard always seemed to come back for more.  
Nevertheless, he had been a little glad that Howard was away (for the first couple of days). He was getting sick of putting him down, it gave him a weird feeling in his tummy and he didn't like it at all.

Howard's "Angry Crab Of Trapped Wind" commercial had been a sure sign in Vince's mind that the tall Northerner would be soon home. He had laughed along with Naboo and Bollo, agreeing that it was hilarious. He had nodded with enthusiasm at their gleeful observations that Howard was a 'ballbag.... what did he expect from that freaky Danish guy?'.  
Privately though, tucked up in bed in the room he shared with Howard, he had felt a twinge of guilt in his belly for agreeing. The twinge was becoming much more regular and familiar, whenever he thought of Howard. The commercial was so embarrassing. Poor Howard. Things never really seemed to work out for him, did they? 

\---------------------

Two more weeks passed, yet Howard still didn't come home. Vince made an attempt to return to the Dalston party scene, although his reputation seemed to have taken a very sharp nosedive. He began to go out less and less, spending most nights on the couch between Naboo and Bollo. Half paying attention to 'Peacock Dreams', half waiting to hear a key in the door and the familiar thread of sensible hiking boots on the battered stairs. One evening, while switching between channels, Naboo caught a glimpse of Jurgen Haabermaaster and stopped channel-hopping with a gleeful laugh.

"Look, it's Howard's boss! Wonder if he's got any plans for a constipation advert, eh?"

Vince glanced towards the television, and the twinge of guilt abruptly changed into one that felt distinctly more like anger. Haabermaaster. He has the reason that Howard had been gone so long. He was the one who had humiliated his Howard and made him look...

Wait. _His_ Howard?

Vince didn't have a chance to ponder on his brain cell's thought-fumble, as Howard himself suddenly appeared on the screen. He was dressed in a casual but well tailored suit, a far cry from his ill-fitting cords and garish Hawaiian shirts (in various shades of brown). His hair (which Vince had referred to as 'brown smoke' during more than one of his outbursts of self-consciousness) was moulded in a stylishly dishevelled manner that Vince had always privately thought would suit him. Howard had never allowed Vince to attempt the style, thanks to his adamant _'don't touch me!'_ rule. The rule was steadfast, but could sometimes be bent enough to break on its own, especially during times of mortal peril or perhaps during a particularly intense crimp. Vince treasured those times. 

Naboo gasped softly next to him, and Vince was pulled abruptly from the montage of 'times I was allowed to touch Howard' that was playing in his head. Refocusing on the screen, he listened to Haabermaaster's pretentious voice, as he explained his latest venture.

" ... Vell you see, Mr Moon did whet most actors weshing to break into this genre ofzen fail to do. He allowed hemself to be utterly humiliated for hes art. He took ze challenge presented to hem and ren with it. He showed a level of commitment I hev rarely seen in this endustry. He is a very talented man and thet is why he hez been selected to play ze lead role in my multi-million-euro, full length remake of 'Zhe Doctor end ze Penzil'..."

Howard glanced at Jurgen, a delicate smile playing on his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. Vince swallowed hard and forced himself to continue to listen.

"... several months, yez, yez. We are most likely looking et et least 8 months of felming end of course then ze marketing and worldwide premieres end all of thet. Thes film has been sitting in my brain for SO meny years, I just needed ze right man for the job..."

The interviewer turned her attention to Howard, who sat a little straighter in his seat, but didn't try any of his 'sexual tyrannosaurus' moves on her. Someone had been teaching him how to act around women, Vince noted. They had done a much better job than Vince ever had. (The guilty twinge returned as he briefly recalled how little effort he had put into those lessons. He pushed the thought out of his mind before he had time to think too deeply on why that might have been the case).

"Mr Moon, this must all be such a big change for you! Mr Haabermaaster mentioned that you were a shopkeeper prior to your fateful meeting. You seem so quiet and reserved. Do you think you'll miss anything from the more simple life?"

Howard smiled again, seemingly taking a second to arrange his words into the right order. Finally he spoke, and Vince's tummy fluttered in a way very unlike the guilty and angry twinges of the last couple of weeks. It felt so good to hear Howard's voice.

"Thank you madam. I... well... when Jurgen offered me the opportunity to work with him, I simply didn't know what to say. I was nervous, apprehensive... I asked for time to think about it. Jurgen was so very accommodating to my needs..."

Vince frowned. That couldn't be right. Howard had left almost immediately after being offered the job. When he had stopped by Vince's dressing room to say goodbye, his mind had been made up.

"... but came to the conclusion that there was nothing in Dalston that I wanted, nothing good enough to keep me there. So no. I'm not going to miss that life."

Vince felt his heart drop like a stone. He could hear Bollo murmuring that 'Harold total cocky wanker now'. But he scarcely heard him.

"Nothing that I wanted... nothing good enough to keep me..."

\--------------------

Vince slowly rose from the couch and stumbled towards he and Howard's room. Just his room now.

"Nothing that I wanted... nothing good enough to keep me..."

He stood in the centre of the room, looking at Howard's sparsely decorated space and empty closet. 

"Nothing that I wanted... nothing good enough to keep me..."

Rotating slowly, he faced the full length mirror that dominated most of the wall on his half of the room. 

"Nothing that I wanted... _nothing good enough_..."

Vince stared at his own reflection. He fluffed his raven hair, gone slightly flat after a long day spent dawdling in the shop and around the flat. He slid his fingers towards his face, documenting the flat spot on the bridge of his nose. Howard had poked him there once, and told him that it looked like a diamond. He had shone like one all day after hearing that. He ran his fingers under his eyes, smearing his eyeliner but not caring very much.  
The pointy features that had once seemed elf-like and cute seemed overly sharp and threatening to him now. Ugly.  
He slid his hands down his torso, feeling the slight outline of ribs followed by belly, almost completely flat but a little soft against the press of his hand. The gentle outward curve of his hips where his tight jeans dug in slightly at the waistband. His strong legs, decently muscular from years of zoo-keeping and running away from threats with Howard. His Howard. His best friend. The person he liked most in the world. The person he... _loved_?

" _Not what I wanted. Not good enough_."

Vince felt like breaking the mirror. 

Howard had left. Of course he had. What did Vince have to offer? Prattling on about topics that Howard had no interest in, yet always finding reasons not to talk about jazz or stationary... insulting Howard all of the time, making him feel terrible about how he looked, how he felt, his dreams, his plans...

All Vince had to offer Howard was his looks.

No. He didn't even have that.

The last time Howard had seen Vince, he had been fighting into a pair of jeans at least three sizes too small. Jeans he was too _fat_ for. He had taken one look at Vince's chubby thighs and made his mind up on the spot. Of course.  


Vince's self esteem was at the lowest it had been in a long, long time. He had become so accustomed to focusing the negative energy at Howard, never giving the bad feelings time to gain purchase and develop into anything more than a brief thought. One month of being on his own had allowed it to build a home in his head and now it covered his brain like a thick, lethargic slime, warping his thoughts and his reflection.

Dragging his eyes back to said reflection, Vince made a decision.  
Even if Howard could never be his. Even if he never came back.  
Vince would do the only thing he knew how to do. He would be beautiful. He had to prove it to himself, he had to prove that he wasn't just a fat, ugly, shell of a person. 

Turning away from the mirror in disgust and ignoring the slight pang of hunger developing in his stomach, he slipped into Howard's bed fully-clothed. 

He slowly fell asleep, dreaming of soft chocolate eyes that crinkled at the corners.


	2. The Months In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! This is a liiittle bit of a slow burn, and warnings for ED related imagery and also self-harm.  
> Please don't read if that triggers you! Otherwise, enjoy!

Sunlight filtered through the gap in the thin curtains and filled the small Dalston bedroom with watery Autumn light. Vince scrunched his eyes closed and buried his face deeply into the soft brown covers of his former best friend's bed. It had been eight months since the night that he had realised Howard had left and was not coming back. Yet he continued to sleep in the Northerner's bed, holding onto the only thing he had left of him.

Eventually, the sunlight and noise of a gorilla making breakfast forced Vince to open his eyes and acknowledge the start of a new day. He stretched, feeling several small clicks in his back and shoulders (caused by a night spent hugging his own knees). He lay flat on his back, staring at the stained ceiling above him. He didn't even know what day it was. He didn't really care.

Naboo was sitting at the kitchen table when Vince entered the room, wrapped in a floral kimono and looking paler and more tired than ever. Naboo tried not to get involved in the lives of the humans that he associated with. The fact that he was over four hundred years old (and his affinity for his hookah) made it hard to focus on the menial problems of the human race. Still, Vince had always been somewhat special to him, a particularly shiny face among the masses. Except Vince had been acting a lot less shiny in the last couple of weeks. 

"Mornin' Vince!" he greeted, pushing a plate of french toast in his direction. "Got any plans for the day?".

Vince stared at the food with dead eyes before turning away and floating towards the kettle. He splashed some water onto two spoonfuls of instant coffee. No sugar. No milk.

"Um. I don't know. Might be meeting Leroy later. He said something about a new club opening... I d'no really."

He sipped at the black coffee and ignored the breakfast offered to him, retreating to his bedroom to prepare for the day. Naboo watched him leave with a small sigh. Something wasn't right, and for once it wasn't something magical that would be a doddle for a shaman to sort out. He didn't know how to fix this.

\---------------------

In his bedroom, Vince set his cup down on the dresser and slowly removed his kimono, the pain in his features better suited to the act of peeling off his own skin. His hands shook slightly, and his head was full of a dull thudding pain that never seemed to go away. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything substantial. Some days he managed a cheese sandwich, maybe a packet of crisps. Other days, an apple and two or three rice cakes. It had been hard at the start, trying to deal with the pangs of hunger and the headaches and the _coldness_ that clung to his limbs. Nowadays, he hardly noticed it. He didn't really feel anything anymore.

He surveyed his body with a kind of empty detachment. The youthful softness and slight double chin that used to show when he laughed had completely disappeared, leaving behind a face that looked withdrawn and brooding. His hipbones stuck out sharply now, sheathed in little more than a thin layer of skin. His stomach, once slightly rounded and soft, was completely flat, concave between the knife-blades of hips. His ribs were much more visible; it was almost possible to count them when he stretched. The strong footballers' legs that he had always had a little trouble with were nearly unrecognisable. The tops of his thighs no longer touched and his knees looked knobbly. His brain registered the skinniness that he saw in the mirror, and feelings of pride and disdain fought each other for dominance. The plan had been to eventually reach a point where he no longer felt fat and useless, and then everything would be okay again. But it hadn't worked. He just felt empty. 

Vince pulled on a t-shirt, which now hung shapelessly on his bony frame. Skinny jeans that used to bite into the soft flesh of his hips needed to be secured in place with a belt, pulled as tightly as it would go. Smoothing his customised t-shirt against his chest, his finger slipped over a safety pin that had opened unbeknownst to him. The metal dug into his finger, causing a sharp sting and a droplet of blood to rise to the surface of his skin. Vince jumped at the sensation-- the first thing that had caused a reaction in his body in months-- and stared at the blood. He felt slightly more awake and alive than he had in several weeks. He shook himself back to reality, sucking absent-mindedly on his fingertip, and slipped quietly into the bathroom.

\-------------------

Vince laboured over the mirror, outlining his eyes in shimmery eyeshadow to cover up the dark circles caused by too many late nights and too little food. He rimmed each eye with kohl, struggling against the tremors in his hands. A brush of blusher along each cheekbone to provide the illusion of health. He spent a lot of time on his hair, carefully straightening and root boosting each section until he had achieved a level of fluffy perfection. He glanced at the finished product and shrugged. He was beautiful, just like he had been trying to be. Yet he didn't even really care anymore.

Vince was about to close the bathroom cabinet when a glint of silver caught his eye. Howard's straight razor, left behind in his hurry to pack ( _"... and leave me behind."_ Vince thought bitterly). Howard preferred a straight razor over it's modern counterpart; he felt it was more suited to a man of action. Vince slid the blade off the shelf and handled it carefully, watching it shine under the harsh bathroom lights. He thought of Howard, scatting quietly and bopping around the bathroom early in the morning, tending to his moustache. He felt a pang in his stomach that wasn't (for once) due to hunger.  
His mind flashed back to the prick of the safety pin from earlier that morning and before he had given it a second thought, he pressed the blade against the delicate skin of his inner arm, dragging it across slowly and then repeating the process twice more. Blood seeped from the thin cuts. Dropping the blade into the sink, he pressed some wadded up toilet paper against them. He hissed between his teeth at the sting, but then breathed a sigh of relief as a feeling of euphoria filled his chest. His heart fluttered inside his ribcage like an excited bird as he busied himself with the first aid kit, patching up his arm and wiping spots of blood from the sink and razor. 

He exited the bathroom, feeling lighter and more free than he had in a long time. Grabbing a thick-knit sequinned cardigan from his room, he proceeded down the stairs to the shop to start his day's work. Throughout the day, he occasionally pressed his wrist against the shop counter, to remind himself of the brief... _happiness_? that he had felt that morning. The feeling diluted throughout the day and by that evening, the empty feeling had once again returned.

\---------------------

Naboo sat once again at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against a shopping bag and waiting for Vince to lock up the shop. He glanced at the landing, listening for the clunk of chelsea boots climbing the stairs and arranging his face into a neutral deadpan. Vince made it to the top of the staircase and edged into the kitchen, dropping himself into the chair opposite.

"Alright Naboo?"

"Yeah Vince. Yeah, I'm fine. Got you a present."

He slid the bag across the table towards Vince, who peered inside, before sliding out a silvery blouse with long flowing sleeves and a pair of extremely tight black drainpipes.

"Aw cheers Naboo! What's the occasion?"

"Nothin'. Just thought you needed some cheerin' up is all. Try em on for me?"

Vince hesitated momentarily, glancing at the pants. His brain flashed to the horrific incident with the Black Tubes ( _'the night that Howard left... when he realised you were nothing but a fat, useless dick...'_ his brain added, helpfully). Sucking it up, he slipped off to the bathroom and pulled on the clothes, noting thankfully that the sleeves of the top covered his injured arm quite well. The pants also slid on with very little difficulty and he buttoned them with ease.  
He returned to the kitchen, spinning dramatically and striking a pose for Naboo. Naboo glanced at him and plastered on a smile that wasn't _completely_ genuine.

"You look stunnin' Vince. Really, you do. You still goin' out tonight?"

Vince nodded, newly emboldened in a way that only new clothes could give him.

"Yeah, gonna catch up with Leroy and see what that new club is all about. Can't spend my whole life holed up here waiting for Howar--- waiting for something to happen, can I?"

He hurried away to the bathroom, blushing slightly, shouting a quick "thanks for the outfit, you're a star!" to Naboo as he left.

Naboo remained seated at the table, his half-genuine smile now falling into a grimace. 

Howard. Of fucking course. 

How had he not seen it? He had been worried about Vince's shrinking frame; although he had been covering up with thick cardigans, loose fitting clothing and makeup, Naboo would have had to be as blind as Lester Corncrake not to notice. The 'present' had been a test to confirm his suspicions. The drainpipes were the same size as the ones Vince had been given nine months ago at the Black Tubes gig. Vince had lost _a lot_ of weight, and all of this (Naboo forced his slightly hazy mind to think back) seemed to have happened since that stupid interview with Jurgan Haabermaaster and Howard. The tidy jigsaw of plasters beneath the semi translucent sleeve of the new shirt hadn't escaped him either.

He balled up his fists and pressed them against his forehead. There was only one thing for it. He pulled his phone from inside his turban and dialled the number Howard had left him that he had presumed he would never have to use. Three rings and then a flurry of noise filled his ear.

"Howard Moon speaking, how can I help you sir?"

"It's Naboo, ballbag. It's about Vince..."


	3. Howard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard POV. Not a filler, I swear aha.

Howard had been enjoying Denmark, for the most part. Jurgan Haabermaaster had been an amazing mentor, both professionally and personally. Howard no longer felt _quite_ as out of place at parties in the way that he had back in England. His new status, 'Howard Moon; lead man, movie star' had definitely helped his reputation with the ladies. Women happily spoke to him now, approached him at the bar. He didn't have to chase them, or impress him with his backlog of jazz knowledge. In fact, he hardly had to talk at all. His presence seemed to be enough. All he had to provide was a gentle smile and a cock of his head, and they seemed placated and ready to tell him everything about themselves, stroking his long arms with delicate fingers, laughing at his half-jokes, licking their painted lips and batting their eyelids at him seductively.

Howard should have been in heaven. Yet he found every pretty face lacking, the curve of every waist he touched too soft and feminine. He had spent his whole life chasing exactly this, but it just didn't feel right. Every pair of eyes that stared into his was never the right shade of blue. Even the most abstract of faces lacked the angles that he found truly beautiful. 

Not to be ungrateful sir, he was certainly enjoying his job. It had been eight months since Jurgan had presented him to the world as the star in his new avant-garde production, and they had wrapped up the filming of the movie, which Jurgan was convinced would be an absolute masterpiece. But the thought of promotion and parties, and a premier and parties, and just... _parties_... made him feel more lonely than he had ever felt at home. He missed the simplicity. Hanging out with Lester and listening to rare jazz records. Having casual banter with Naboo and Bollo when they were in the mood. Watching 'Colobos The Crab' with Vince. Just. _Vince_.

He had tried to shake any thoughts of the Electro Punk from his mind. The last time they had spoken, right before he had left for Denmark, had been painful. Vince had been struggling into a pair of tiny drainpipes, just to impress a group of nonces who didn't deserve someone as talented as Vince as a frontman, in the first place. Howard had watched Vince's freak-outs about not being skinny-legged enough all day (slotting neatly between his own panic attacks about performing in front of a big crowd). If they couldn't see how amazing Vince was, chicken drummers and all, then that was their loss, yessir.

He had hoped that telling Vince that he was leaving would have been enough to snap him out of his ridiculous vanity-driven plan. Jurgan had given him a week to figure out what he wanted, to say goodbye to those who mattered, etc. But Vince had simply waved him off, asking him to send a postcard. Vince didn't care, and it hurt. It really, really hurt.

Howard had been holding onto private feelings towards Vince for a long time. Longer than he cared to admit. Sure, the kiss at his birthday party and the (slightly alcohol-fuelled) love confession had _almost_ put everything out in the open. But Vince's clear disdain for how Howard felt ( _even if_ he had claimed to 'never to love again' when Howard had moved on to 'pencil case girl') had put it all into perspective. Just being mates with one another, well maybe that would have been okay. But Vince didn't seem to care enough to be mates. So Howard had to leave. It was easier to feel the pain, over 500 miles away (with constant distractions), than to share a room with the person that you love and watch them drift further out of your grasp with each passing day.

\------------------

Howard had been completely set on convincing himself that he was leaving the past behind. Forever. So receiving a phonecall from Naboo had thrown him a little bit.  
He was attending yet another party, feeling pretty despondent and tired. It was the fourth party in as many days. The film had wrapped up, it was all down to editing and production now. All there was left to do was spread themselves around and 'relax'. Howard couldn't imagine anything less relaxing than a room packed with strangers, all falling over themselves to further their careers by chatting up anyone with a single film credit on their resume.

Howard felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, and delicately detached himself from the latest hanger-on (a pixie-like redhead with shiny green eyes and an impressive body that he had barely even glanced at, despite how much she had pressed it against his chest). He answered on the third ring.

"Howard Moon speaking, how can I help you sir?"

"It's Naboo, ballbag. It's about Vince..."

Howard moved hurriedly through the crowd, looking for a quiet space to talk.

"Naboo, hi. How are you, sir? Vince? What about Vince? Thought he was off pursuing his dreams as a rock-n-roll star?"

He tried to fight back the bitterness in his voice, but it crept in with determination.  
Naboo laughed, with a bitterness that matched Howard's own.

"Didn't quite work out for him 'Oward. Don't fink he ever really wanted it, to be honest. They were all knobs really. But that don't matter. He's fucked 'Oward. I don't know what to do."

Howard grimaced at the phone. Why was Naboo calling _him_? The only thing he ever did for Vince was get in the way, and he told Naboo as much, trying to keep his voice low and pointed, but not quite managing to conceal the way it cracked at the end of his sentence.

Naboo paused for a couple of seconds, and Howard was shocked at the tenderness in his voice when he finally responded.

"I fink there's been a couple of wires crossed 'Oward. Look. I know me and Bollo 'aven't exactly been the nicest to you in the past, an' I know Vince was a right prick before you left. But honestly, I don't fink you mean as little as you fink you do. E's a mess 'Oward. He won't eat, all 'e does is hang around the shop scowling at people, or else sleeping the day away. I fink 'e's been hurting himself too. I just don't know what to do. 'E mentioned you the other day. I don't think 'e meant to. But all I know is since we saw you on the telly with that Harbour-meister prick, he's been a fuckin' mess. 'E needs you. You're the only one who can sort this out. I don't know what else to say."

Naboo cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed at expressing emotion to anyone, especially Howard. Howard tried to process Naboo's speech and quieten the multiple thoughts swirling around in his mind-tank. Vince. Vince not eating. Vince... _hurting himself?_. Because of him? Not likely. But either way, something wasn't right. Something wasn't right with _his_ Vince.

Howard coughed, suddenly aware of how long it had been since he had replied.

"Okay Naboo. Okay. Look, I have to sort some stuff out here. I'll be in touch. But don't worry sir, I'll help in any way that I can."

He heard a small sigh of relief on the other end of the line, followed by Naboo's voice, even more choked with emotion than before.

"Okay 'Oward. I'll take your word for it."

Another pause.

"... And 'Oward? Thank you. Honestly. I know you got a lot going on... and... and well done by the way. I mean it. Just. Thank you for this. 'E needs you more than 'e's able to admit. We all kinda do, a little bit."

The line clicked dead and Howard stared at the phone in his hand. He felt choked up with emotions he couldn't even put a name on. And mostly, mostly he felt at a loss about what to do about Vince. Despite what Naboo had said, he still couldn't grasp the concept that Vince might actually need him in any way, shape or form. 

Nevertheless, he packed a bag that night and explained his situation to a very unhappy Jurgan Haabermaaster, eventually reaching a compromise (his non-attendance at all of the promotional parties would add to the mystery of the final product). He booked a flight to England for the following afternoon, excitement and nervousness filling his chest in equal measure.


	4. The Month He Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowish burn again! But we're nearly at the end. Enjoy. x

Vince stood listlessly behind the shop counter, fiddling with some second hand costume jewellery that had been donated that morning. He felt a little light-headed, he and Leroy had had a long night and he had yet again skipped breakfast. And lunch. His arm ached, the healing cuts had been joined by three fresh ones that morning. Waking up in Howard's bed with no Howard was always so much worse when he was hungover.

He remembered flashes of the night before, feeling embarrassed. He remembered leaning against a wall in the alley behind the club, very drunk, tears streaming down his face and smudging his mascara. Leroy had found him there five minutes later, and not known what to do. Vince was supposed to be the Sunshine Kid! He had cried on Leroy's shoulder, while Leroy muttered soothing nonsense into his hair. Between sobs, he vaguely recalled himself repeating Howard's name over and over, pleading and desperate. Leroy had brought him home and told him that things would get better. That he just needed to try and forget about Howard, and move on. The kind of things you say to a friend after a messy break-up. But he and Howard hadn't broken up-- they hadn't even been together! 

"He wouldn't have been with you in a million years anyway", a voice in his head murmured, "even if you were beautiful and thin enough... you're far too stupid."

Vince sighed and fought back the tears that always seemed on the edge of falling when he thought about his former best friend. The months of separation should have made it easier. But all they had done was give him more time to think (always a dangerous hobby). 

He had come to the eventual conclusion that he loved Howard. Not just as a best mate. He wanted to be with him, he wanted to make him smile. He wanted to go on adventures with him. He wanted to kiss him and... do other things. He wanted to fall asleep in his arms every night, safe in the knowledge that he was loved by the only person in the world that made him feel safe. He wanted it so badly, and it was never going to happen.

The bell above the shop door tinkled but Vince didn't even bother to look up. His retail skills had been abysmal recently. Naboo was considering rehiring Adam, who had been in on work experience, to try and make up for Vince's shortcomings. Like with most things in his life now, Vince didn't really care. His headache had gotten worse and his hands shook as he sorted through the box of tacky jewellery. The customer walked towards the counter and laid one hand down on the surface. Large hands, masculine and strong. Vince raised his head, setting his jaw and preparing to answer whatever enquiry the customer had. His eyes met those of the man in front of him and widened with shock. _Howard_. 

Vince mumbled his name and then without warning, swayed on his feet and blackness overtook him as he fainted, hitting the shop floor in a crumpled heap.

\----------------------

Vince awoke in his own bed, the room was dark and warm and he had to take a couple of seconds to try and remember how he had gotten there. He sat up, realising he was in his favourite pyjamas. Howard's face flashed into his mind, but he pushed the thought out of his head. It had been a dream. It must have been. His head still hurt, and he lay back down, tears threatening to fall yet again.

Howard sat at the kitchen table with Naboo, his head in his hands and his third glass of scotch half-empty in front of him. Naboo had warned him that Vince wasn't well, but he hadn't realised just how bad the situation was. He had hoped to surprise the little man, on realising that the shop would still be open when he arrived in the country. Vince had certainly been surprised; he had _fainted_. Naboo's opinion was that it was a combination of shock and hunger. Howard had run behind the counter to try and revive Vince as soon as he fell, carefully sliding him into his lap. Vince weighed practically nothing at all. Howard had felt the bumps of his vertebrae through the thin material of his t-shirt, and stroked the sharp angles of his cheekbone as he moved his hair out of his face. He had spotted the heavily bandaged arm, half hidden under a collection of brightly coloured bracelets and bangles.

"What have you done to yourself, Little Man?" he had murmured, as he held Vince's limp body close to his chest.

Bollo helped carry Vince up the stairs, and put him to bed. Howard had removed his clothing, feeling an incredible sadness at the sight of sharp hipbones and protruding ribs. Vince had always been slender, despite his love of sweets and little cakes (his extreme energy prevented him from gaining any weight). But he had also been solid; a little soft in places and utterly perfect in Howard's eyes. He was painfully skinny now, and Howard had been terrified of hurting him as he slipped him into pyjamas that were far too baggy for his liking. He had settled him into bed and kissed his forehead before leaving the room and joining Naboo in the kitchen.

Naboo cleared his throat softly and Howard looked at the tiny shaman, not sure what to say. What was he supposed to do? What could he _possibly_ do?  
Naboo seemed to read his mind.

"I know it seems bad. It _is_ bad. But 'e really needs you, 'Oward."

Howard felt a pang of anger and tried to keep his voice measured as he replied.

"He doesn't need me Naboo! He might have needed me once upon a time, but that was a long time ago! He couldn't care less that I left. He didn't even try to stop me. I don't know why he's doing this, but I'd imagine it has more to do with not getting to be a rock star than it has to do with me. He doesn't feel about me the way... the way..."  
Naboo sat patiently, waiting for Howard to finish his sentence. Howard deflated and allowed the admission to cross his lips, the first time he'd said it out loud.  
"... the way I feel about him. He doesn't love me, he doesn't want me. It's the only thing I can offer him and he doesn't want it."

"E's been sleeping in your bed. Every night, once 'e realised you weren't comin' back. He talks in his sleep a lot. 'E says your name all the time, but 'e won't even mention you when 'e's awake. Maybe this is all cause of what 'appened with the Black Tubes pricks. I dunno mate, maybe. But that don't sound like the actions of someone who don't care _at all_."

Howard stared at Naboo, a little awed. He still didn't believe that Vince could possibly feel the same way about him, but was slowly realising that he _was_ still Vince's best friend. He should have been there to stop him from falling. He rose from the chair slowly and walked towards the room he had once shared with his best friend. He glanced back at Naboo, who was feigning interest in the bottle of whiskey on the table, and slipped into the room.

\--------------------

The room was still dark, but the breaking of dawn was slowly bathing it in a soft yellow light. Vince awoke once more, startled awake by a bad dream. It was a regular dream at this point. Howard, wearing a sparkling suit, with a beautiful woman on each arm, on a pedestal high above Vince. He was laughing down at him, cruelly telling him that he was stupid and useless, fat and ugly, that he would never be good enough for anyone, especially someone like Howard. He looked like an Adonis, literally and figuratively out of Vince's reach. It was basically an extension of his daily inner monologue, but with pictures.

Vince stretched and his hand brushed against something in the bed beside him. Something soft and warm and a little furry. He turned his head slowly and nearly passed out again at the sight. Howard. Howard asleep, shirtless, in his bed. Vince pinched his arm hard; he had to still be dreaming. It hurt and his tiny squeak of protest caused Howard to stir from his sleep. His deep brown eyes blinked open blearily and a smile spread across his face at the sight of his little man, hair fluffed out around his makeup-less face, looking younger than he usually did, and a little startled. He reached one hand up to cup Vince's cheek and his smile grew wider and more tender as Vince nuzzled against it. 

Then without warning, Vince started to cry.

Howard sat up and held the Electro Boy close to his chest, petting his hair and stroking soft circles into his back. He felt so small, shaking and sobbing in Howard's strong arms.  
Eventually, the weeping faded into a small whimper with the occasional hiccup. Howard leant back from Vince, his hands still firmly on the smaller man's bony shoulders. Vince scrubbed at his face, looking embarrassed. Howard hesitated for a moment, then leant down and planted a soft kiss right on the diamond-shaped bridge of Vince's nose. He pulled back and stared into Vince's eyes, which were wide and shocked, and he whispered hurriedly.

"Vince, I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you when everything went wrong. You're my best mate. I've been completely shit. Can you forgive me?"

Vince took a couple of seconds to answer, looking like a small trapped animal.

Eventually, he wrapped his skinny arms around Howard's broad chest and leant into his warmth, breathing in the smell of sweat and smoke and feeling Howard's sparse hair tickle his cheek.

"Of course I forgive you. I'll always forgive you. I've missed you so much. You have... you have no idea."

They sat like that for several minutes, as the sun rose and filled the room with wintery light.


	5. Every Month From Here To Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Hope the ending makes up for the angst!  
> Thank you all so much for reading this and leaving feedback, you are all wonderful. x

Howard and Vince eventually emerged from the bedroom, still clad in pyjamas. Howard switched on the kettle as Vince slowly lowered himself into a chair, eyes downcast but a tiny smile playing on his lips. 

He was so thin and so _pale_ , very much the delicate flower Bollo had nicknamed him. Grabbing a frying pan from under the sink, Howard set about to making Vince's favourite breakfast. Pancakes. 

Vince watched Howard bustle around the kitchen, every bit a man of (domestic) action. He could scarcely believe that he was real, that he was really here. He watched the strong muscles of his bare back as he measured out ingredients, longing to touch him again. The cuddle in bed had been genius, and had confirmed all of the things he had been thinking over the last couple of months.  
"Pity he won't ever feel the same about you..." the vicious voice in his brain muttered.

Howard dropped a plate in front of Vince a couple of minutes later, a large pancake topped with Nutella and chopped strawberries. Vince's absolute favourite. His tummy rumbled at the sight and smell as he stared at it, longing to taste it. But he couldn't. He couldn't be weak and let himself go. Not now that Howard had finally come back.

"Vince?" Howard said softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand as it lay beside the untouched plate.  
Vince glanced up, his face a jumble of fear and worry.

"Want to try some breakfast for me, Little Man? It'll make you feel better, especially after your fall yesterday."

The softness and sincerity in Howard's voice, combined with the nickname he had missed so much, made Vince's heart swell and his tummy flip in a happy and hopeful way he'd not felt in _so_ long. He looked down at the plate again and took a tentative bite of his breakfast. Howard smiled brightly and they ate in companionable silence.

\----------------------

Naboo rehired Adam and gave Vince what he referred to as an 'extended holiday'. Vince had found it a little strange to begin with, slightly worried that he had been fired for being useless. He didn't really see why he deserved time off, but he was incredibly grateful once he'd gotten used to it. Without work to worry about, he was free to spend all of his time with Howard. He hadn't left the flat since Howard's return, and Howard himself only left to pick up occasional groceries and small presents and treats for Vince. He had started baking again, little cakes at least twice a week. 

Vince's appetite had begun to return, slowly. He still looked nervous whenever Howard presented him with a particularly large meal, but he was getting better at eating regularly. Even Bollo had begrudgingly accepted Howard's return (based entirely on the regular meals that he was providing). After about a month and a half, Howard started to notice small changes in Vince. He was still very thin, much thinner than he had ever been. But some colour was starting to return to his cheeks, which looked a little less sunken. He tended to spend most of his time in pyjamas or stretchy, brightly coloured and patterned leggings, valuing comfort over style when he wasn't going anywhere. His legs still looked quite matchstick-like, but a little muscle seemed to be building up again and Howard was delighted to see it. He missed his little man's footballer's legs.  
They talked constantly, and had even started crimping again. Vince seemed so much happier. Howard often caught him watching him when he thought he wasn't looking, wearing an expression that seemed almost like... _longing_? His face always switched to a bright smile when Howard caught his attention, which was something that Howard was sure he could happily look at for the rest of his life, and never get bored. They slept in the same bed every night, sharing heat and the occasional cuddle.

It was Saturday night, and Vince was floating around the flat in shiny silver leggings and one of Howard's shirts, dancing to a tune only he could hear. The cuts that had littered his arm had finally healed and left behind small scars that he no longer felt the need to cover up. He looked healthier than he had in months and Howard felt his heart leap at the sight of him. He longed so much to kiss him, to hold him in a way he always thought he would a sophisticated woman. Vince was a cockney bitch, almost the exact opposite of what Howard had expected to fall for. And all at once, exactly what he wanted in every way. He had to do something. Some kind of a gesture.

"Fancy going to the cinema tonight, Little Man?" he asked, blurting it out before he lost his nerve.

Vince glanced over, pausing mid-dance to squint at his friend.

"Like... like a date?" he asked, blushing an adorable shade of delicate pink.

Howard paled slightly, not immediately knowing what to say. His brain was screaming at him, alternating between cries of joy and excitement and self-conscious yells about ruining their delicate friendship. It was now or never, he had to choose. Deep breath.

"... yes Little Man. Yes. Like a date."

Vince smiled so brightly, Howard almost needed sunglasses to stop himself from being blinded.

"Genius! I'm gonna go get ready 'Oward. I'll be quick, I swear!"

He skipped off towards the bedroom, leaving Howard alone, feeling equal amounts confused and hopeful.

\-----------------------

Vince felt so happy that he was almost vibrating with joy.

Howard had asked him out! On a date! A proper date!

He had to look his absolute best for the handsome Northerner, and he spent nearly an hour on his hair alone, making sure that not a single hair was out of place. He laboured over his makeup, quite pleasantly surprised at how little blusher he needed to look healthy. Once he was satisfied that his eyeliner looked perfect, he attacked his wardrobe, wondering what on earth to wear.

After much internal debate, Vince finally settled on a red silk shirt that still looked good (even though it hung a lot more loosely nowadays) and the black drainpipes that Naboo had given him. The shirt slid on with no issue, but he faced a little difficulty with the jeans. He hadn't worn proper clothes in several weeks, and the jeans took a little more effort to get on than he remembered. He got them fastened but they clung to his hips in a way that he was no longer accustomed to. Pulling his shirt up, he noted the slight excess of flesh sitting on either side of the waistband and he paled at the sight. 

Howard suddenly called from the living room.

"You nearly ready Little Man? We've got to get a move on if we're going to get there on time!"

Tugging his shirt back down, Vince tried to shake the feelings of self-consciousness that filled his brain and hurried along to begin his date with Howard.

\----------------------

The cinema was quite empty when they arrived, and the silly late-night romance that they had settled on was being shown in a screen completely devoid of other people. Howard was glad, still unsure if Vince was only messing with him by agreeing to a date. 

Vince chose a seat at the end of a row, designed to fit two people. A love seat. Howard settled in comfortably. Vince had rejected his offer to buy him snacks, claiming that he felt a little dodgy. Howard had let it go, still glowing from the fact that they were really doing this.

The film was boring and predictable, but Howard hardly noticed, thanks to the presence of the small pixie-like man sat beside him. Vince smelled _amazing_ and the rub of his silk shirt against Howard's arm made him shiver with longing. Howard put his arm around Vince and pulled him close, sliding his hand down along his side.

Vince was trying very hard to swallow his self-consciousness and enjoy his date with Howard. He had wanted this for so long, and he didn't want to let his worries about his body to ruin this experience for him. He leant against Howard's body, feeling comforted by the larger man's warm bulk. He was so handsome, his chocolate tresses mussed up to casual perfection, his soft eyes sparkling with happiness. 

Vince felt Howard's arm wrap around him, and slide down his side. He snuggled into the hug, enjoying the burst of affection from the man who used to fear touch so much. Howard's large hand eventually settled on Vince's hip, gently stroking the little love handle that had appeared where the tiny jeans dug into his side. Vince felt sick. He felt his body start to stiffen and before he knew it, he was on his feet.

"Uh... bathroom. Be right back!" he croaked, excusing himself in a slight panic.

He sat in the bathroom for a whole fifteen minutes, trying to calm down, before returning to his date. He slid back into the seat, pulling his knees up to his chest protectively. Howard glanced occasionally at him from the corner of his eye, and he eventually let his head drop onto Howard's shoulder. Howard sighed quietly in relief and laid his head on top of Vince's, glad of the affection he was once so terrified of.

\-------------------

Howard had wanted to kiss Vince several times during the film, but inexperience and nervousness had prevented it from happening. He was a little disappointed, but the fact that Vince had even agreed to come along, under the title of a date, had stopped him from beating himself up too much. They had stopped at a chipper on the way home, as Howard was craving chips, and Vince had once again refused food, claiming he didn't feel well.

Howard was a little worried, but had let it slide, determined not to start a disagreement on their first date. He had managed to cop a feel during the film, revelling in the slight softness that he had felt when he touched Vince's side. His little man was getting better, and he couldn't be happier. He had been disappointed that the moment was cut so short, but he still couldn't hide his smile as he pulled the smaller man close on their walk home.

They reached the flat and ascended the stairs slowly. Howard busied himself with plating the remainder of his chips, and Vince excused himself to get changed. He returned to the kitchen in pyjamas and a heavy hoodie, which hung almost to his knees. Howard offered his plate to Vince, who declined, and then muttered that he was tired. He headed slowly towards the bedroom, and Howard's heart dropped. He had put his heart on the line, and Vince seemingly hadn't been impressed. He was being polite, but Howard was setting himself up to believe that it just hadn't been good enough.

Vince suddenly spun around, and looked him dead in the eye.

"Don't take too long. I'll miss you too much if I fall asleep without you."

He bit his lip, then shoved open the door and disappeared into the bedroom.

Howards heart leapt and he hurriedly shoved the last of his chips into the bin. He brushed his teeth and examined himself in the mirror. He had slimmed down a little during his time in Denmark, but he still cut an imposing figure. His hair was longer than it had been prior to his leaving, and his facial hair was scruffy and unkempt. He shook the slight feelings of self-consciousness from his mind and pulled on his pyjama pants, not bothering with a shirt. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, deemed it 'good enough' and headed into the room that he shared with his little man.

\-----------------

Vince felt the dip in the mattress as Howard slipped himself into bed beside him. The warmth of the larger man enveloped him and he started to relax, a happy haze filling his brain. Howard wrapped one strong arm around him and pulled him close, and Vince feigned sleep, enjoying the feeling more than he could put into words.

Howard's hand slipped down Vince's torso and he felt his protective hoodie being slid up, as a large, warm hand settled on his stomach, where a tiny belly had started to return. Howard sighed happily as he started to stroke the slight softness.  
He heard a sharp gasp and felt the small belly disappear as Vince sucked in. They lay like that for a couple of seconds, before Howard felt Vince start to shake, sobs racking his tiny body. 

Howard didn't know what to do. He had had such a lovely evening with the beautiful man that he wanted more than anything else in the world. Yet here he lay, crying in Howard's arms. 

"Little Man... what's wrong?" he murmured, hardly speaking over Vince's sobs.

Vince coughed, and tried to get his words together.

"I'm so-sorry 'Oward" he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"What are you sorry for, love?" Howard asked, feeling slightly frantic.

"I'm getting... I'm g-getting fat again..." Vince muttered, trying to control his sobs. "I'm getting fat again and you're... you're not g-going to want me and I've r-ruined everything."

Howard lay there in shock, trying to figure out what to say. Vince was so tiny in his arms, a mess of protruding bones. Yet he thought he was _fat_? And more shockingly, he was worried that Howard wouldn't want him? He _wanted_ Howard to want him?

It was worse than Howard had thought. He recalled his conversation with Naboo, on his first night back. He has been convinced that the changes in Vince had nothing to do with him. Now he wasn't so sure.

Vince was still talking, muttering into the duvet.

"...an' you're just gonna leave again cause I ain't good enough and I'm nothing but a useless, ugly mess and-- and now I'm getting all f-fat again and you never wanted me anyway and now I don't have a-any chance at all and I'm s-so sorry 'Oward..."

The smaller man dissolved into a sobbing, shaking mess. 

Months... _years_ of pining after the Prince of Camden, and now he lay inches away from him. Crying over not being good enough for him.

Howard grabbed Vince close to his body, before flipping him around to face him. Vince's eyes were closed, and his lips trembled as he tried not to let the sobs escape. Howard gently stroked his pretty face, wiping away the tears.

"Where has this come out of, Little Man?" he asked, cupping his pointy face in his hand. "Why would you _ever_ think you weren't good enough for anyone? Especially me?"

Vince tried to calm his breathing and glanced at Howard's softly confused face, not knowing what to say. He took a deep breath.

"Because it's why you left innit? Y-you saw me being t-too fat for them drainp--pipes and you left. The only good thing about me was m-my looks and I don't even have that anymore. You r-realised that I wasn't w-worth it and you left. You s-said it yourself on the telly with Habor-master whatever... there w-was nothing good enough in Dalston for you."

Vince looked down, his lashes sparkling with tears.

Howard sucked in a breath, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard.

"Oh Little Man..." he moaned. "Oh no, no not at all. I left because I didn't think you wanted _me_. I told you I was leaving, and you didn't even mind. You didn't seem to care. I would never leave you over how you look because... well... because you always look amazing to me. Whether you're skinny or pudgy or anything in between. You'll always be beautiful to me, Little Man. But honestly, I missed who you are on the inside the most. I missed how you spin everything into a positive light. I missed waking up across from you every day, making every day a little bit brighter..."

He paused.

"I love you, Little Man. I love you in a way I've never loved anyone before. You're my other half, the absolute love of my life. Even if you never feel the same, I feel like you deserve to know."

Howard faltered, half regretting his admission.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of soft lips crush against his own.

Vince was kissing him. VINCE WAS KISSING HIM.

Howard relaxed into the kiss, the second in his whole life, with the same beautiful man as the first. It was even better than the first.

Eventually they broke apart, and Vince glanced up at him through his tear stained lashes.

"Do you mean it 'Oward?" he asked, a slight blush covering his cheeks.

Howard nodded, his brain running a mile a minute.

Vince suddenly smiled, the thousand watt smile that Howard loved so much.

"I love you too! I love you! I've wanted you for... for so long. Longer than I can remember. I want to be with you forever."

Howard's grin matched Vince's as he leaned down to kiss him again. His hand stroked across the soft surface of Vince's little belly, and while he still looked a little unsure, this time he didn't suck it in. Howard smiled into Vince's mouth, scarcely believing that this was happening. Vince smiled back and they continued to kiss until they started to fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

\------------------

Another month had passed, and Vince had returned to work. He had finally retired the tiny jeans than Naboo had bought, selling them off to a skinny-legged trendy almost as soon as he had put them on display. He had felt a pang of jealousy, seeing the tiny man swagger around the shop in the drainpipes prior to buying them, but a glance towards Howard had settled him down again. Howard had ignored the customer as he modelled for them, his eyes focused completely on Vince.  
He was back in the drainpipes he'd worn prior to Howard's leaving. They were still a little loose, but thanks to Howard's domestic prowess, he has fitting into them a little better. 

He still freaked out at least once a week, worried that Howard had been lying, self-consciousness wracking his brain. But every night, he fell asleep to Howard stroking his little belly. Petting his curvier hips as they watched movies, cuddled together on the couch. Smacking him lightly on the ass when he got cheeky, which always turned into Howard fondling it's rounder shape. 

The bad dreams had almost completely stopped, and he could hardly believe his luck.

Howard could hardly believe his luck either. He fell asleep each night, wrapped up with his Little Man, kissing his fluffy hair until they both fell asleep . Sheer bliss. Nothing could compare to this, and he never wanted it to end. 

And thankfully, neither did Vince.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper fic that I've had the nerve to publish. Please let me know what you think. x


End file.
